


Playing God

by cardiac_arrest



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Unvierse - The Scarlet Letter, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21867772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardiac_arrest/pseuds/cardiac_arrest
Summary: Elias has to close his eyes for a moment. The sentiment behind the statement was too full of determination and gentleness. There is a suggestion that goes unsaid in the sentence; a sense of hope, a dream-like possibility that Elias dares not to linger upon.“Brock,” Elias sighs, an admonishment. He dabs at Brock’s knuckles gently with a cloth, his touch resembling more of a caress, like the intimate slide of dew drops down fresh, delicate leaves.
Relationships: Brock Boeser/Elias Pettersson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	Playing God

**Author's Note:**

> originally, this was written for a dialogue prompt of "if you want me, come get me, motherfuckers." 
> 
> disclaimer: this is loosely (okay definitely more than loosely) based on the scarlet letter. lots of connotations of a heavily religious society that is ardently homophobic. there is violence and exclusion based upon homophobia, but not explicit violence or derogatory terms such as the "f" word. 
> 
> okay, disclaimer complete! i had to read and analyze this book recently, so, you're welcome.

Elias is new to New England. He cannot deny that. The colony that he somehow joins is chafing and restrictive, nothing like the wondrous sanctuary that his mother and father once thought it was supposed to be. The new climate of their settled land is harsh—but probably not as harsh as Sweden—and the people are stifling. The land and surrounding vegetation are telling of the colony’s future, with its powdery, infertile soil and multitude of weeds pervading the area. The future will be bleak and miserable. It will be nothing like what his parents intended. 

At first, New England had seemed to be an adventure worth living to experience. The settlers had convinced his family with bold fantasies of a life away from claustrophobic Europe to a place where a new community was to be made; a new religion, a new society, a new start. His parents had believed it—and so had he. 

The journey there had been rough; the toiling ocean seemed to be possessed by an angry god. The waves had crashed upon their ship ceaselessly, ramming upon the oaken wood with the harsh force of a thousand bulls. They had lost a large portion of their people—their, Elias laughs to himself, he cannot believe he thinks he is a part of this colony—, including his parents and his brother. 

Elias was no stranger to death. It seemed to follow him like an evil fiend, one that was ready to take from him everything except his own life. 

But even after his family’s passing, he thinks he would have been able to push on and make a living for himself. Yes, he definitely could have lived in this New England society, if only it were not for the mindset of the people. If only he had not journeyed with this specific group of people. If only…

_________

“This boy! This—this wretched wisp of a sinner! How dare he trample upon our consecrated soil that we have just come to bless with our settlement?” a woman exclaimed haughtily, standing near the makeshift scaffold. Her face was wrinkled in an unattractive manner, the shadows draping across the creases in her skin and creating harsh concavity to her visage. 

“And with another man!” another woman gasped, her eyes filled with anger and fear. 

“Now, now, he wasn’t ever part of our community. Remember, he came to us with his parents from Sweden. We can all discern what type of people are born and bred in those areas.” The woman who made this comment seemed to be wiser, yet her wisdom seemed to strangle its receivers rather than placate and inspire them. 

“The nerve for him not to reveal the identity of the other sinner. He should be thankful that the punishment wasn’t dictated to be harsher,” one of the older women huffed, still managing to maintain an air of dignity about her despite the repulsion she felt.

“Hush, ladies! Are we not women of proper breeding and state? We shouldn’t bow down to the boy’s level and desecrate ourselves. Look! Here he comes!” The young woman who spoke pointed her finger at the prison door, which had been pushed open to make way for the young man. She held her child in her arms as the group of spectators diverted their piercing gaze to the iron door.

The young man walked out with disdain in his footsteps. His gaze was cool and sharp, surveying the rest of the community with ice in his light, blue eyes. He was tall and lanky in a way that introduced a sense of elegance to the people who laid eyes on his figure. It could be seen that he came from a line of high standing, not necessarily in royalty but certainly in human nature. 

“He thinks he’s better than us!” the first woman shrieked again, bringing an affronted hand to her chest. 

The young man, having climbed up the stairs to the scaffold just then, turned his long neck and stared into the eyes of the woman who had shrieked the statement aloud. His gaze instilled fear into the woman’s heart; a type of fear that seemed to pierce all the way into the marrow of her bones. She averted his gaze, instead focusing on the black letter S that had been inked just under the jutting bone in his neck. 

The young man’s gaze followed the woman’s down to the mark marring his skin. The action seemed to shake the man up, as he clenched his jaw and whipped his head away from the group of women, leaving the first woman to smirk inwardly. 

Elias seemed to have no place in this godforsaken community.

_________

When Elias is rid of the stupid criminal sentence that the community forces him to endure, he moves to a cabin near the sea. It’s a nice, cozy place close enough to hear the waves crashing against the rocky cliffs. Most days, the seagulls cry out and keep Elias company. It’s pretty lonely, but at least it’s a place where he doesn’t have to suffer under the scrutiny of the community.

In Sweden, he had aspired to be an artist, because he was the second child and his family were supportive. But here, in this small, close-minded society, there was no place for frivolous pleasures like art. So, Elias sets out to find a job that maybe he’ll be able to hold for a while so he doesn’t starve and die. 

He ends up working as a carpenter under a man named “Bo”. Bo is his saviour. Bo doesn’t mind Elias’s sin or the letter upon his clavicle or the fact that he slept with a man. Bo helps Elias when he struggles, often sending him home with extra food that would have gone bad if Elias hadn’t taken it or giving him an advancement on his pay because Bo just “felt like it”. Not to mention that Bo lets him paint on the walls, when they work on a religious or decorative building, sometimes instead of calling for another specialized worker.

Elias thinks he might’ve fallen in love with Bo if he hadn’t met Him.

Elias thinks he might’ve left New England if it wasn’t for Him.   
_________

“Come ‘ere fellas, look who we have here,” a man calls out, “the sinner himself. In the flesh.”

Elias groans inwardly and glares, huddling into himself. 

“It’s him, huh? Didn’t your mom teach you to stay clear from unsafe places? Oh, that’s right, you don’t have one anymore,” the second man laughs, his features twisted from the malicious smile on his face. 

Elias grits his teeth and clenches his fists. To a spectator, it only seems that Elias’s glare has become a touch deadlier. “Time for some new jokes. They are not funny.”

The first man dares to laugh, further tormenting Elias. “You wanna go, foreign boy? What a shitty accent, don’t you think?” He nudges his partner. 

“Oh yeah, just hearing it pisses me off.” 

The first man smirks. “Took the words right outta my mouth! Think we gotta dispel our anger somehow, yeah?”

“Fuck yeah,” the second man chuckles darkly. 

They stalk toward Elias with malice, fists balled up and muscles bulging in their arms. Elias backs away, sweat beading from his hairline. He doesn’t want to seem like a coward, but there is no way he can take one of these guys, let alone two. 

There’s a rush of adrenaline in Elias’s veins. He’s about to run.

Another pair of footsteps thud across the soiled ground. The two men turn their heads toward the unknown personage. 

“Brock!” the second man exclaims happily. “Glad you’re here. I thought it was someone else and it scared the shit out of me.”

Brock stops, his eyes surveying the situation. He freezes entirely when his gaze catches sight of Elias, his body still tense and prepared to flee. Brock’s eyes soften just a little before his mask is put on again. 

“Yeah, it’s me. What are you two doing?” he asks.

“Nothing much, just teaching the sinner a lesson. You wanna join?” the first man laughs. 

A brief flash moves across Brock’s eyes. The two men wouldn’t be able to catch it, but Elias does. The emotion brings more fear to Elias than the two men do. Elias shakes his head vehemently at Brock, pleading him silently. 

Brock smirks back at Elias, making Elias’s heart thump, before shaking his head slightly to placate him. Don’t worry. It’s time I do this.

“Why are you guys bothering him, though? Pretty fucking dumb if you ask me,” Brock scoffs, crossing his arms. 

The expressions on the two men’s faces change from surprise to confusion to anger. 

“You calling us dumb?” the second man speaks up.

“You better not be starting shit, Boeser. Your dad won’t get you out of trouble all the time, you little bitch,” the first man sneers. 

The muscles in Brock’s arms bulge through his clothing. “You think I need my dad to get me out of trouble? Fucking idiots. If you want me, come and get me, motherfuckers.”

Elias can only watch in horror as the two men swing their fists in Brock’s direction. 

_________

“Oh my god, you are so stupid,” Elias huffs as he ushers Brock into his seaside cottage. 

Brock ignores him, sitting down heavily on a cushioned wooden chair. “So this is where you’ve been living, huh? It’s nice.”

Brock cranes his neck, straining to catch a glimpse of every minute detail of the single room that they’re in. It’s almost as if he’s trying to commit the image to memory—the image of the crumbling walls, dust clouds clumping upon the ceiling, and light streaming in from the lofty windows. Elias had been surprised the first time he entered and discovered he actually had windows. 

“Don’t change the subject,” Elias glares. “You’re hurt.”

Brock raises his eyebrows and then smiles. His eyes sparkle and his teeth gleam. “You think this is called being hurt? It’s not even a scratch.”

“Your skin is peeling.” Elias grabs Brock’s right hand, his grip tight and unforgiving, a sign of his annoyance. His knuckles are scarlet with congealed blood and exposed flesh, introducing a new feeling of queasiness in Elias’s stomach. Something is unsettling about the way Brock’s skin flay away from his flesh, the way the blood looks black in the shadows but bright in the sunlight. 

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Elias grabs a jug of water and a wooden pail from the perimeter of his single-room cottage, settling the pail underneath Brock’s hand. He kneels down, pouring a generous amount of water over Brock’s smarting wounds. Brock flinches at the pain with a flip of his hair and a tortured grimace.

“Ow!” he almost shouts, the low timbre of his voice raspy. 

“Don’t complain,” Elias scolds, “you asked for it.” 

Brock scowls down at Elias, staring at the shock of fine, golden strands of hair. His left hand clenches into a fist.

“You know I had to.”

Elias has to close his eyes for a moment. The sentiment behind the statement was too full of determination and gentleness. There is a suggestion that goes unsaid in the sentence; a sense of hope, a dream-like possibility that Elias dares not to linger upon. 

“Brock,” Elias sighs, an admonishment. He dabs at Brock’s knuckles gently with a cloth, his touch resembling more of a caress, like the intimate slide of dew drops down fresh, delicate leaves. 

“Elias,” Brock repeats in the same vein. “You know it was my fault.”

Elias shakes his head. “It was both of our faults.”

“But you’re the only one suffering!”

Elias looks up at Brock with a wry smile. It gains a deeper sense of tenderness and affection as Elias takes in Brock’s resolute and purposeful brow. 

“It’s fine. I can take it.” Elias stops dabbing, shaking open the strip of cloth and revealing the contrasting image of red on white. Blood on snow. He releases Brock’s hand with a human caress. 

There’s a silence that permeates loudly through the room. Elias feels a swift breeze as Brock cups his cheek with his injured hand. He feels a thumb moving across his skin and fingers tilting his chin up. He can’t do anything except stare into Brock’s fiery blue eyes. 

“This isn’t just on you. I promise we’ll be together, one day.” 

And Elias has to shake his head away from Brock’s hold because of that. He lets his hair fall into his eyes, even though he hates how it looks that way. He knows in his heart that Brock’s promise will never ring true. 

“Okay,” Elias says simply, smiling pitifully at himself. 

With that, Brock stands up rapidly and without warning. “I don’t break my promises.” 

Elias shakes his head, diverting his gaze from Brock’s figure. He doesn’t look at Brock as he stumbles out of Elias’s little cottage.

If only Elias believed in promises.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you guys for reading! if you enjoyed it, leave a kudos. and if you really enjoyed it, leave a comment down below! (i suck at responding to them but reading them really makes my day!) come yell with me about stupid hockey boys on tumblr @mitcheemarns :)
> 
> edit: i realised i didnt give background! here's some stuff from my notes and more concrete answers that i didnt give in the fic:  
\- elias and brock accidentally fucked each other in a public enough area  
\- brock was able to escape without getting found out  
\- elias took all the blame and ended up having to get the letter "s" tattooed on his body for the rest of his life, s can stand for sodomy or sinner (it's up to your interpretation ;) )  
\- brock is a governor/magistrate's son, so he'll be inheriting the position, thus leading petey to not reveal who the other man was  
\- by defending elias, brock is probably also fucked


End file.
